


Monday, Maybe

by Requiem



Category: Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Male-Female Friendship, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24125857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Requiem/pseuds/Requiem
Summary: Clint and Kate haven't even been back in New York for a day before managing to find trouble again. And it's only Monday. Or is it Tuesday?
Relationships: Clint Barton & Kate Bishop, Clint Barton & Kate Bishop & Lucky
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21
Collections: Hurt Comfort Exchange 2020





	Monday, Maybe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rina (rinadoll)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinadoll/gifts).



> I came across your prompt and just had to write something!
> 
> Set some time after the end of volume 4.

It's Monday. No, Tuesday. Sunday? Surely not.

"It's Thursday."

Clint cracks open an eye and looks over the arm of the couch. Had he said that out loud? Or has Kate's latest blow to the head made her telepathic?

"Definitely telepathic," Kate says. She's in the kitchen waiting for the coffee maker to finish.

Clint squints at her. _Bring coffee_ , he thinks in her direction.

Kate raises an eyebrow.

"Liar." He huffs and falls back onto the couch.

But even though she might not be a telepath, Kate still is some sort of mind reader, because five minutes later, she brings him a cup of coffee—strong, black, and fresh, just how he likes it. Clint gingerly sits up and brings the cup to his nose as he inhales deeply.

"I forgive you," he says.

"It wasn't my fault," Kate protests.

Rewind to three (two?) nights ago: The neighbours have been complaining for weeks about some low-level gangbangers harassing people on the street near the building, but Clint's been too busy with work to really do anything about it. Now that he's finally got some downtime, he's going to take care of his responsibility as landlord and local avenger.

It seems easy enough; he takes down monsters, killer robots, and evil organisations in his day job, so how much trouble can a bunch of goons be? He really should've known better.

Big Mistake One: Rather than playing to his strengths and shooting a few explosive arrows from the roof to scare them off, Clint goes down to talk. It seems like the mature, responsible thing to do, and being around the other avengers always makes him feel like he should be making more of an effort.

Mistake Two: He's brought his bow and quiver—he's not _that_ stupid—but he lets the goons get in close enough that when he goes to draw, the guy in front gets in a good punch first, and knocks the air out of his lungs. He's pretty sure he's broken a rib, too.

Mistake Three: He's come alone. He really should've learned from the business with the tracksuit mafia that doing anything alone was a bad idea—okay, _fighting bad guys alone_ , maybe, he doesn't want to sound clingy—but not learning from his mistakes is a Clint Barton specialty.

"Kate!" he yells at the sky. "Little help?" Even if she doesn't hear him, the neighbours will pass on the message.

In the meantime, he's got three goons coming at him from the front, and two more trying to sneak up on him from behind, but Clint's new Stark tech hearing aids catch everything. He kicks and punches for all he's worth, not afraid to play dirty—a Barton specialty, lovingly passed down to him from Barney—stabbing the ends of his bow into eyeballs and driving arrows into soft flesh.

Just as Clint thinks he's gaining the upper hand, he hears a van pull up—reinforcements—and sighs. He really should've put the superhero persona to bed for the night and dealt with this another day. He may have just come off a six-hour nap on the quinjet, but he'd also spent a good week before that roughing it in Siberia. _Actual Siberia_.

Then, like an angel descending from the heavens, Kate rappels down the side of the building, kicking two goons in the head on her way down and knocking them out.

Clint takes advantage of the momentary distraction to put two arrows into two legs—he doesn't need corpses drawing the attention of the cops—and fires off a boomerang arrow that knocks out two more of the goons.

"Yeah!" he cheers as he catches the arrow and returns it to his quiver.

"Oof," Kate says as a goon punches her in the head and sends her into the wall.

"Hey!" Clint shoots an arrow into the goon's hand and follows it up with a swift kick to the face. Take _that_. "You okay?" he asks Kate.

"I've had worse." She waves him off and nocks an arrow. "Behind you."

Clint ducks, Kate's arrow hits the goon in the shoulder, and Clint tackles him to the ground. The goon hits his head on the ground and knocks himself out. Nice.

As Clint starts to get up, the biggest goon he's ever seen kicks him in the chest with giant booted feet, and Clint goes sprawling across the alley. Definitely another broken rib.

Clint pulls an arrow from his quiver and nocks it on the bowstring, but he can't get enough room to draw before the goon yanks the bow out of his hands.

"Kate!" Clint yells, a little wheezily because the goon's picking him up from the floor by the neck.

Kate comes up from behind wielding one of the fallen goons' crowbars, swings, misses, and the goon uses Clint's bow in his other hand to stab Clint in the leg _with his own futzing arrow_. Out of indignation more than anything else, Clint lets out a yell, and headbutts the goon into oblivion.

When the bright spots clear from his vision, he sees all the goons lying unconscious in the alley and Kate rubbing at her head as she leans against the wall.

-

"I still forgive you," Clint says as he massages his bandaged thigh.

Kate snorts and turns on the TV.

"You sure you wanna do that?" Clint asks. "It gave you a migraine yesterday."

"That was yesterday."

Today's not much better. Clint keeps a close eye on Kate, and at five minutes into an episode of _Dog Cops_ , she winces. Just a small scrunching of the forehead and tightening of the eyes, but Clint notices. At ten minutes, she props her elbow up on the arm of the couch and lets her head drop into her hand, but her eyes are still on the TV, so Clint lets her be. At fifteen minutes, she's all but curled into herself on her side of the couch. Clint turns off the TV, reaches out, and tugs on her arm until she shuffles over to bury her face into his side. It jostles his broken ribs, but she's taken care of him way too many times for him not to return the favour.

"I'm so _bored_ ," Kate whines. "I don't want to stare at the walls all day again."

"Lucky's coming back from the vet today; you could hang out with him. Aimee said she'd bring him over before lunch."

Lucky had broken a tooth rooting around in the garbage while Clint had been away, but when he'd gotten back, he'd gone to deal with the gangbangers first instead of picking Lucky up, so the poor pup had been languishing at the vet until Clint had let it slip to Aimee that neither he nor Kate would be leaving the apartment anytime soon.

"I've missed him," Kate says with a sigh. "Hope he's been doing okay."

-

The vet must have given Lucky some good drugs, 'cause he comes bouncing into the apartment panting in excitement and wagging his tail so hard Clint can hear it whipping through the air. Kate gets up to greet Lucky, and kneels down so he can lick her face enthusiastically as she laughs and ruffles the fur on his head. Halfway through, Lucky catches sight of Clint and bounds over to the couch so Clint can rub his head while Kate scratches his butt.

"Good boy," Clint coos, and Lucky wags his tail even harder.

Kate throws Lucky's ball around the loft for him a few times, though in his excitement he seems to have forgotten he can't see on his left side, and thanks to the painkillers, doesn’t seem to mind when he runs into walls or the furniture. Clint eventually calls a stop to the game, both to spare his already beat-up apartment and to make sure Lucky doesn’t end up as bruised and battered as his owners.

Kate lays down on the couch, carefully draping her feet over Clint's uninjured leg, and Lucky settles down on top of her like a big furry blanket. She runs her hands through his fur, and they both sigh contentedly.

Clint puts _Dog Cops_ back on, brightness turned down so it won’t bother Kate, subtitles on and sound turned up a little so she can hear while he gets to take his hearing aids out. Somewhere between episodes, they both fall asleep.

-

Clint wakes up first, around mid-afternoon, judging by the sunlight coming in through the windows. His stomach growls, rousing Lucky, who lifts his head up and turns around.

"Pizza," Clint says decisively as he turns off the TV and puts just one of his hearing aids back in.

Lucky's ear perks up in agreement.

Clint doesn't usually find himself in need of a cell phone, hence not owning one, but in times like this, when he has to slowly limp over to the phone on the wall while leaning on the cane from his quickly-growing collection of mobility aids, the benefits of owning a phone he can keep in his pocket start to come to him.

The counter is covered in takeaway menus, but he and Kate haven't actually been using them since the neighbours keep bringing them food. As nice as the homecooked meals are, though, there's something about pizza that's comforting in its own way. Maybe it's the familiarity of all the post-mission pizzas he and Kate have had together.

Twenty minutes later, Deke brings the pizza up, startling Lucky when he knocks on the door, who in turn wakes Kate.

"Pizza?" she says blearily.

Clint lifts up the lid of the box a little so the smell wafts out. Lucky gets off Kate and comes over to bother Clint instead, rubbing against his legs and making pitiful puppy dog eyes like Clint isn't going to give him a slice anyway.

Kate comes to the rescue—as she usually does—taking the pizza and Lucky's attention with her so Clint doesn't have to juggle the two of them with only one good leg and no free hands.

Lucky gets the first slice of pizza, then Kate takes one and leaves the box on the couch between her and Clint.

-

"Thursday, you said?" Clint says on his third slice of pizza, counting on the fingers of his other hand. They'd come back Monday night, so, "Four more days until I have to report in. You planning on sticking around?" He's secretly hoping she will, because otherwise the next few days look a lot like sitting around in his boxers feeling sorry for himself, but he doesn't want Kate to feel obliged to keep him company when she's got other friends—friends her own age, who are probably also more interesting—she could hang out with.

At the other end of the couch, Kate looks like she's thinking hard.

"Yeah," she eventually says with no further explanation. "I guess I am."

"Great, I've got tons of arrows that need labelling."

Kate gives Clint a glare, but there's no heat behind it. While they're both distracted, Lucky swoops up from the floor and snatches the last slice of pizza. Even off their game as they are, either Clint or Kate could've easily stopped him, but neither of them have the heart to take it away from him now. Plus, it's already in his mouth.

"Two pizzas next time," Kate says. "And beer. I don't label anything if there's no beer."

"Deal."

Kate hums in satisfaction and tosses the empty pizza box with expert precision onto the end table next to Clint before stretching out and putting her feet back on his leg. Clint pulls down the blanket from the back of the couch over both of them.

It only takes a few minutes for Kate to drift off to sleep, and Lucky's slipped into a food coma after gulping down two slices of pizza in quick succession. Clint stretches out his injured leg and scratches Lucky's head with his toes.

It's not the worst Thursday he's ever had.


End file.
